gave the architects an indulgent smile. “How could they be, when Halonya herded you into my presence when you’d scarcely had time to think? Return in a tenday, and we’ll see who deserves the commission.”
As one, the builders bobbed their hands and professed their eagerness to obey.
“One thing to bear in mind,” Tchazzar continued, “is that we’re going to build on the opposite side of the city from the War College. We’ll have all Luthcheq cradled between the two poles of power, the temporal and the divine. A neat conception, don’t you think?”
Shala Karanok cleared her throat.
The former war hero had relinquished her crown, but she still wore mannish garments trimmed with bits of steel that suggested armor. Apparently they weren’t part of the monarch’s formal regalia. She stood before a marble statue of a crouching, snarling warrior with a broken sword in his right hand and an axe in his left, one of the many martial decorations scattered throughout the chamber.
“Majesty,” she said, “may I speak?”
Tchazzar turned his grin on her. “Of course, High Lady, of course.”
“I can find room for your temple on the mall in the religious quarter,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re thinking,” Tchazzar replied, “but I like my notion better. It wouldn’t be very friendly of me to crowd my brother and sister deities.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, Majesty. But if I understand you correctly, the spot where you intend to build is quite built up already. That will add considerably to the expense.”
“Oh, I know you’ll find the coin somewhere. The important thing is that we finish the temple before the end of the year.”
Shala hesitated, and Jhesrhi had the feeling she was choosing her next words carefully. “Majesty, with all respect, that too will add to the expense if it can even be done at all. Chessenta has a war to fight and pay for.”
“You see, there’s your answer,” Tchazzar said. “The plunder we seize will subsidize the temple.”
“All the more reason then to take to the field as quickly as possible.”
“Soon,” Tchazzar said. “As soon as I set the government to rights.”
“Then may I have your permission to head north immediately? One of us should be there.”
Tchazzar’s smile disappeared. He studied Shala for several heartbeats, then said, “No. I need you here. Don’t worry, we have plenty of brave soldiers and shrewd captains to hold the line for now.”
Shala gave a stiff half bow of acquiescence. “As Your Majesty commands.”
“Now, everyone leave me,” the dragon said. “I need a time of contemplation.”
Jhesrhi bowed with the rest.
“Oh, not you,” Tchazzar said, “nor you either, Halonya. The two of you must help me ponder.”
So Jhesrhi and the newly minted high priestess remained.
“That woman,” Tchazzar said, once everyone else was gone. “That Shala. Do you think she resents me?”
“Well,
“I would,” said Jhesrhi. “I do. She’s just giving you the best advice she knows how to give.”
“Hm,” said Tchazzar, gazing at the doorway through which Shala had exited. “We’ll see.”
Aoth hastily unbuckled himself from Jet’s saddle. Leaving Oraxes to fumble with his own straps, he moved to inspect the end of Jet’s wounded wing. The griffon still held the member partly extended, and through their psychic link Aoth could tell that it would ache worse if he folded it up against his back as usual. Blood pattered steadily onto the ground.
“I told you,” said Jet, “it’s all right.”
“Not if I want to ride you tomorrow, it isn’t.” Aoth turned to survey the courtyard of Hasos Thora’s smallish castle in the center of Soolabax. Various retainers stood gaping at the griffon riders still setting down in the space.
“Get me a healer!” Aoth shouted. “Fast!”
In time, a plump, gray-bearded fellow scurried from the keep with a satchel tucked under his arm. Aoth was glad to see he wore the yellow robe of a priest of Amaunator. As far as he was concerned, a cleric of Kossuth would have been better still, but at least he was one of Cera’s subordinates. Maybe, knowing she was fond of him, he was willing to believe Aoth might be a decent fellow even if he was a mage, a sellsword, and a Thayan.
Although the sunlord balked when he saw the blood and realized whom he was supposed to treat. But that was probably because-huge, crimson-eyed, and otherwise deepnight-black from his beak to the lashing tip of his leonine tail-Jet looked every bit as dangerous as he was, and a lot less tractable.
“Come on!” Aoth called. “He won’t hurt you.”
“Not unless you hurt me,” said the familiar.
Aoth shot him an annoyed look. “You’re not helping.”
The sun priest approached rather gingerly, inspected the wing, stanched the flow of blood with a healing prayer, rubbed a pungent amber salve into the wound, and finally stitched it shut. Jet stiffened once or twice, and Aoth felt the jabs of pain that made him do it. But the griffon resisted the temptation to spin around and rend the healer limb from limb.
When it was done, Aoth scratched Jet’s neck, ruffling the feathers, stooped to uncinch his saddle, and then saw Hasos glowering at him. The tall, long-nosed baron looked petulant, but there was nothing new about that.
“I should go talk to him,” said Aoth.
“Yes, go,” said Jet, a trace of humor in his rasp of a voice. “I know you’ve been looking forward to it.”
As Aoth crossed the muddy courtyard, Hasos said, “I would have appreciated it if you’d come and conferred with me right away. Someone else could have seen to your steed.”
My “steed,” thought Aoth, is a lot more useful and important to me than you’ll ever be.
“Please excuse me, milord,” he said aloud. “But I thought the situation deserved my personal attention. Now, I have something for you.” He opened the pouch on his belt, brought out a rolled parchment, and held it out to the nobleman.
Hasos accepted it with a certain air of wariness. “What’s this?”
“Tchazzar’s writ giving me ultimate authority over all of Soolabax’s troops and military resources for the duration of the war.”
Hasos’s eyes shifted back and forth as he skimmed the first few lines. His aristocratic features turned a gratifying mottled red. “This is outrageous! Preposterous!”
“If you read the whole document, you’ll come to the part where His Majesty says it’s no reflection on you. It’s just that the previous arrangement, where you and I each led our own troops, was keeping us from getting things done.”
Hasos took a long breath. “If your scouts hadn’t stumbled across Tchazzar in the wild, if they hadn’t done him some sort of service-”
“Then maybe I couldn’t have persuaded him that a clear chain of command is better,” said Aoth. “But it is what it is. If you want to argue about the wisdom of His Majesty’s decisions, you know the road to Luthcheq. If not, I expect your full support.”
Hasos took another breath, and some of the red faded from his cheeks and brow. “I know how to obey a royal decree. I just don’t know why you felt you had to bother. What decisions are left to make? The enemy’s outside the walls, and we’re in. Now it’s just a matter of waiting them out.”
Hasos relished the trappings of war. He often wore a breastplate and lugged a shield around even when there was no reason for it. But Aoth wondered if the nobleman had ever actually experienced a siege. If he had, he might not have been so blithe about subjecting his own town to the protracted misery such an action often entailed. For certainly Soolabax, its streets jammed with fugitives and livestock from the surrounding farmlands, was a prime candidate for starvation and disease.
“That’s not how we’re going to play it,” said Aoth. “We griffon riders can pass in and out of the city as we please.” Well, give or take arrows flying up from below, but there were ways of contending with that. “I have troops camped outside the city, and Tchazzar himself is bringing more up from the south. Put it all together, and it means we can smash these fools who think they have us trapped. Our men outside the walls will be the hammer, and the
